Remember Me
by hideousbeauty
Summary: "She was doing what I'd only ever dreamed of, and I knew nothing was going to hold her back. Especially when that something was me and my stupid feelings. All I could hope for was for when she was living those starlet dreams, for her to look back every now and again and just... remember me."
1. Chapter 1

I suppose I can't really say how or when it happened. It isn't as if you look over at a complete stranger- or even someone you've just barely talked to over the years- and decide 'hey yeah, I want you as a best friend'. No, I guess that nothing really works quite like that when it comes to people. And I suppose that goes for those you love or even fall in love with, either. It just sorta happens. Like one day you're walking down the hallway, and you just stop, thinking to yourself 'when did that happen?', and then you're left there in the middle of the hallway with people all around you looking at you with your strange expression and look in your eyes, not even aware that you just realized you've somehow managed to get yourself a new best friend. It isn't like when you were little and all of your classmates became your best friends just because you shared your crayons. No, when you're older, you find that getting new best friends isn't an everyday occurrence. And when it comes to high school, you could have known most of the other people around you for going on four years; you definitely aren't expecting to be making any new best friends then, right as you're about to leave for the "real world" where chances are you won't even be speaking to most of your classmates soon enough.

So, no, I can't really say when it happened. It just sorta did. And when the realization hit me, I wasn't even sure how to feel about it anymore. She always just sorta used to bug me. She always just there, everywhere, in everything. She stuck her nose where it never belonged, and her only friends were those in the glee club where she only somehow managed to be even more annoying than she already was. There were so many times in our lives that I just wished she would disappear, just never come back to the high school that I went to just so I never had to see that stupid smile or hear that name that induced ear bleeding. God forbid, that screeching she called singing.

But I think that maybe it was because she was always there that this all really happened.

I remember the evening that she and I had really our first and only fight in all the years we'd known one another. We'd bickered before, sure- usually over her bossy way of forcing ideas down my throat or nonexistent relationships with boys, but it was never something like this. It was a scary thing at first. There was no yelling or anything, only a heavy silence that seemed to deafen the room. She sat on my windowsill, and I was still perched on the end of my bed where she'd left me once the palm of her hand had left a sting in its place on my cheek. And then there was this. Silence. No arguing, no words exchanged to further the talk we'd been having for what felt like endless hours now. Nothing. She simply sat there, smoked on one of my all black cigarettes that my brother-in-law had brought back for me and that she'd stolen from my case earlier, and ran a hand through her tousled hair. Nothing else. And it was that which frightened me the most.

Finally, after the useless remains of her nicotine-depleted stick had been carelessly flicked two stories below, she stood and let out an almost silent, long sigh under her breath. What had we even been fighting about to begin with? My mind raced and swam a little bit at the same time somehow as I failed to recall every word that'd been exchanged. The shock of the slap still had me in its grasp, and I flinched involuntarily as she moved. But she just grabbed the jacket thrown to the bed space beside me and simply headed for my closed door.

Her hand on the knob, she didn't turn back when she spoke slowly. "Don't paint black that which was once golden." And then she was gone. It was all the advice I clung to after that. Thoughts slowly floated back as images raced behind my eyelids of her coming over earlier that day because I'd called her little too late the night before, drunk and lonely after a long day of screaming contests with my mother about something trivial that led to talks of my future plans and colleges I didn't wish to attend.

And of course, she was there. Always there. Trying to help someone that had long since given up trying to help them self, so far past the point of caring that they might as well not have even been there anymore, someone who was just bad dye jobs, poor attitude, and binge drinking. And yet she was there- there with her hand on a shoulder that didn't even realize how badly it longed for touch until someone thought to be hated fought her way through cruel words to be there to simply lay a hand. And perhaps it hadn't been a fight at all. Perhaps it'd been seen that way, but now I can almost admit without thinking that it hadn't been a fight at all but simply an act of pure desperation trying to get through clouded judgement and harsh words that she never deserved.

So maybe that's when it happened. Or maybe not. It isn't like that was the first or second, hell, even tenth or twentieth time she'd been there and with no thanks or gratitude of any sort in return. Maybe it happened a really long time ago, and it was just simply that now I was choosing to finally open my eyes and see things for how she was trying so hard for them to be like for so long. I'm not sure what she saw that kept her fighting. In all honesty, if someone were to push me away so hard for so long, I probably would have just given up.

It'd been months now since the downfall. I hadn't spoken to almost anyone else at that school for months now, apart from the other girls dressed in black underneath the outside bleachers only to ask for cigarettes or a light. I call it a downfall because I suppose it was a downfall for the past me. But I don't think I'd ever been as happy with myself as I was now. For the most part anyway. At night, I admit, thoughts that never reached me before were now clinging to me and finding me when I was alone with no power to stop them. Drinking was fine, but it was becoming my escape. Among other things.

And I didn't want to bring her down with me, but I did see a change in her occurring as well. She began asking for cigarettes and would join me when she had breaks even just to smoke together in a comfortable silence. And we got looks at first, looks she ignored and that I returned. She would only ask for one every now and again or just take the one from my hand to take a few drags of before giving it back. She had to protect that voice of hers. And then she began changing the way that she dressed. She said she liked the clothes I wore better. Which I was happy about. It was time she stopped dressing like a toddler. And then we would get alcohol from random places- her dad's cellar, my brother-in-law would get it for us, sometimes we paid random strangers who were simply nearby and older than us. That was until we got our fake I.D.s. I felt mixed emotions about her slow changes. It wasn't really... her.

But then her quick remarks or sudden disappearances for practices or invitations to performances or random songs being sung throughout the day reminded me she was still her. She was just a different her. Once I brought up my concerns, and she simply laughed. "We all change at least some in our lives. It's a part of growing up. And maybe this won't always be me. But I think I'd be just as happy if it were." We never spoke of it again.

And then once upon a time, it was almost three in the morning, and my head was swimming with, not the glass but, the bottle of wine I'd finished on my own. I wanted one night to not think about anything, and yet I had galaxies of wonderings flood into me in a way that I couldn't manage to catch each one to string together constellations. She'd somehow dragged me along to a party thrown by people I used to call friends, and I wasn't sure what either of us were doing there.

She tasted like the salt of tears, cigarettes, and alcoholic vomit. She was sloppy and pinched my skin in her bracelets. Her necklace caught my hair in them at least five times, and honestly I just wished she would leave me alone.

It was the most disgusting and vile thing that could have happened in my life- ….and yet I wouldn't have traded that first kiss with her for any other.

I couldn't even tell you why really.

And so I still can't decide when it happened or even how. Thinking back, maybe it was something stupid and cliche like from a movie when a couple of girls who happen to have become best friends get drunk one random night. And since no one saw it and we hadn't spoken of it sine, hey, maybe it was all actually just a dream. But like I said before, like a million people have said before me, you don't just look over at someone one day and decide to love them.

You only hope that they love you back.


	2. Chapter 2

It was like watching a movie reel flicker and repeat the same part again and again, each time wearing the film and becoming more and more like dark spots spreading across the entirety of it. Trying to remember everything was almost… torture when the spaces where specific things happened wouldn't fill anymore. It was as if the memories were grains of sand, slipping between my fingertips, running away from me with no way for me to catch them.

I laid in the dark on my back, my chest rising and falling each time with a pressure like my ribs were about to fall in on me, collapse into my heart and kill me already. …I couldn't take it.

I stood, the soundless steps my feet let escape in a padding almost terrifying me, like I wasn't actually moving across my room. But the window was getting closer; I assumed I must have been going somewhere.

I stood out on the small balcony that lead from my window; the cold, autumn wind dancing through my hair, taking the strands with it across my cheeks and tickling my nose. I breathed in deep, almost swearing that I could hear my bones crack and feel the dust on my lungs rising and swirling along with the breeze that couldn't possibly be touching them in reality. My eyes slid shut again, and my fingertips found their way to my lips. They traced over the skin there softly, and my mind wandered back to how she'd kissed me.

My phone singing behind me snapped me back from my bliss, and soon I found myself holding it, looking down at the luminescent name flashing and tearing through the darkness.

Her voice was the single most calming melody I'd ever heard in my life.

Unlike me who never seemed to know what she even wanted the next day even, she'd always had one dream. She always dreamed of getting up on a stage where everyone looking back at her not only knew who she was but was only there for her name alone. She dreamed of singing, dancing, acting... She dreamed of being a star in any and every way imaginable. She dreamed of leaving this town and only ever looking back to visit her family- or maybe even taking them with her. To New York City. The only town that Rachel Berry ever belonged in.

And she would make it there. It was never a doubt in anyone's mind. If anyone from this town was ever going to get out and make something of themselves, if anyone ever could do that, it'd be her. A lot of us used to tease her about it. A lot of us used to make her doubt her dreams. But despite it all she always found her way back. I believed she always would. She was strong, stronger than anyone I'd ever met, with the strength of someone I could only ever dream to be.

It was silly to look back now and remind myself that once she and I didn't see eye-to-eye, that once just the thought of admitting that to anyone at all, even and especially myself, would make me sick to my stomach. Now I could just shake my head, laugh it off. Now I didn't care what it meant. It was time that she was recognized for a strength that everyone else here was too afraid to have.

Still. I'd be lying if I said that it wasn't an odd thing to say.

I suppose it wasn't only strength though. She had the talent to back up everything she promised. And that was just something that simply no one could deny her of. For such a tiny thing, she had a voice large enough to reach the world. And I believe she could one day. Why not her? There were hundreds of thousands of little girls in the world with the same dream. Someone had to make it.


	3. Chapter 3

I sat down at my desk in front of a laptop that seemed to boot up a little slower today than normal. But once it had, my fingers hovered over the keys anyway in a manner that made my impatience seem pointless. A blank screen stared back at me as I waited for the thoughts to flow from my mind and through my fingertips and create at least a little bit of a monstrosity that I could call a writing entry for the day. But… Instead I sat there. No thoughts came, no keys pressed, and no words to show for.

I sighed, sipping at my coffee that I forgot to put enough sugar in, my face scrunching at this realization a little too late. Closing the laptop, I dug on of my last cigarettes out of their hiding place in the tin in the bottom of my desk drawer and struck one of the blue matches my mother used to use when she smoked instead of finding inspiration. I threw my leg over the edge of my window and sat and thought. Thought about nothing, thought about everything.

I knew I could write about myself, but the thought of opening up my life in words that others could stumble upon one day seemed terrifying. Especially when I wasn't even sure what it was I believed I could be anymore. I knew I could write on her. But I'd done that so many times before that it seemed like a new topic had to be in order at some point. Not to mention if I told the entire world about her one day in a book I could only dream of ever publishing, it meant that the world would have pieces of her that I dreamed of only having to myself.

I shook my head, trying fruitlessly to shake her from my thoughts. It was as if she plagued me and left a sick body in place. But in the absolute greatest way imaginable. Every second with her was just a second I wanted to capture, to cling to, to never forget or let go of. And I knew that it was impossible to hold them all in like that. I tried convincing myself that in order to create new memories, some had to be pushed to the back of my mind. But it still weighed heavily on me every time I though of forgetting a moment.

Bringing the cigarette to my lips once more, I closed my eyes and tried to focus on a single thought at a time- the outside world over stimulating my concentration with every color of the sunrise and every note the birds nearby sang to one another. Usually I could pluck a memory at a time and go back to visit them in detail, replaying every scene, every word she said with exact intonation without fail. But today was proving difficult.

Sighing out smoke, I ran my hand through my hair and opened my eyes again. I knew exactly what it was, and it was an awful time for it considering I was trying my best to be at least somewhat inspired at the moment. But this happened. Quite a lot lately. It was the tugging in my thoughts asking me why it was that she was there invading the space that should be for me. I never did have an answer for it. We'd still never spoken about that night, never once had a conversation that even implied that she should mean so much to me in the way that she did. Yet... There she was. And had it been anyone else, perhaps I wouldn't have questioned it.

Every girl dreams of finding their prince. I was fine just sharing an apartment with her.

And now tossing my head back gently and staring at the sky above me that was slowly lighting itself up into the new day, I couldn't believe how foolish I sounded even to myself in silence. She had her dreams- of a life, of a love. And I sure wasn't to be taking part in any of that. Nothing ever really lasted after high school anyway. So I trudged back over to my laptop and closed it again, choosing that today would be a day for not thinking about anything at all, and I laid back on my bed. Glancing over at the photo of us that she'd framed for my birthday present, I traced over her every detail with my eyes before slowly lowering it to lie on its face.

It would pass. It had to pass. Whatever it was.


	4. Chapter 4

She was at my house again- her fathers away for the weekend- sat in front of the vanity that had once belonged to my grandmother and had now made its way to me, brushing out her hair like she always did before she fell asleep for the night. She smiled as she spoke, her words filling my ears, quenching a thirst for her voice that I hadn't realized I possessed. She would look from the mirror and back to me, every once in awhile sipping on the tea that she claimed I'd made 'just right'. Whenever she paused, she hummed, but it never felt like our mutual silence was unwanted. She commented once that she noticed I didn't speak as much as others. I'd shrugged it off, but she only smiled that same wide smile of hers and told me that it was more than fine, that she actually liked it.

"It means you listen more than most who can usually only hear themselves," she'd said. That made me smile; I liked the idea of that.

Once I told her that I wanted to write for a living. She'd grasped my hand in both of hers and beamed. She thanked me again and again for telling her something so close to me. And I smiled. She flew into a whirlwind of questions on more specifics as far as genres and such, but it never seemed too fast for me or ever phased her when I answered with only one word or a nod. She once compared us to music, asking what she would do without her bass line there to keep her grounded. That also made me happy. I wanted to help her shine even if she already lit up the sky. Maybe I didn't want to help really. Maybe I just wanted to have the best view of that, always.

I wondered to myself if I would ever consider living in a New York studio flat to do my writing, pondered if the noise of the living city outside my window would be an inspiration or a hindrance. But I only shrugged those thoughts away. I could write wherever I was, and if not professionally- I wouldn't mind giving up on that dream to find another with her. In fact... I preferred it.

I would lie in bed and watch her breathe- in and out, so calmly, so peaceful and steady. I wondered what it was she would dream about, especially when she wore a tiny half smile with them. I couldn't help but ask the silence of the dark room that enveloped us if I could ever be so lucky to flit through even a moment of her subconsciousness when it was so peaceful like this. I sighed to myself and also thought about what she would think or feel if only she knew that whenever I dreamed now, it was always of her. I asked myself what she could possibly think if she ever discovered the way I even think of a future with her.

I would chase the thought away, fight the cravings for a cigarette so that I could lie with her longer, enjoy and remember every, little detail of a scene that was so blissful that I almost believed I was asleep as well. Is this what love was? Truly? Not the high school romances you found in younger years and unguarded hearts. Walls down and never looking, stumbling across and down into a deep, dark abyss that would normally seem terrifying but it somehow... euphoric? Perfect even? Maybe it wasn't that I was in love with her, maybe she would never be in love with me. Maybe I was okay with that and any combination of feelings that could possibly arise from that. But... still. Maybe this could be called love. A different kind of love. Our love.

I was content for that.


	5. Chapter 5

The closer and closer we got to our graduation, the more and more she talked about living in New York- the more and more I realized that she spoke as if she was going alone, and I still hadn't spoken a word to her about anything our of the ordinary. The more I realized that the more I waited... I was going to lose my chance before I even ever really had one.

She began growing her hair out longer. I told her once that it looked nice. She just looked at me and seriously said that it wasn't to look nice. Very matter-of-factly, she informed me that you can simply do more with more hair and that the Broadway makeup and hair crew would appreciate it. But almost immediately after, she was grinning and touching my arm and giving me her thanks. She was always so one way and then the other that I was surprised I didn't have whiplash yet. I adored it.

At this point in things, I never once thought about what other people saw. I didn't ever care anymore, despite how I'd come into high school behaving and believing. Once I'd changed myself to be just who I thought I wanted to be instead of worrying about all of the other's opinions and their yes following me wherever I went, it never occurred to me that they would still be watching. Sure, I'd made a drastic change, but I suppose I just assumed that once I stopped caring, everyone else would as well. And then one day I was reminded that I was wrong.

I was standing with her at her locker, my shoulder against the one located beside hers and her buried in her own looking for something she couldn't seem to quite find. I wasn't sure what my expression was at the time; I just knew whenever she was around now, I felt like smiling- so maybe I was just always smiling at her. But that's when I realized he wasn't really looking for anything, she was just buying time, and as the bell rang and the halls were emptied, my face fell to an apathetic almost worried state. I cocked my head to the side a bit and questioned what was wrong. I silently questioned myself why it was that I hadn't even thought about being late to class just because I was with her. I just followed her, her lead. Nothing else even occurred to me.

That was when she turned to me a bit more, her expression something I couldn't read. She pushed back a strand of hair that I'd been resisting the urge to touch myself, and her eyes never met mine. She hesitated in that moment, and I realized I was worried- scared even- as to what could have caused this demeanor. That was when she informed me that people had been whispering among themselves about us, about how close we had gotten. She spoke of how some people had even approached her about it, asking what exactly we were or what we were doing. Furrowing my brows as I listened, she continued on. As she spoke, all I could wonder was if she was going to leave now because of the way people spoke. Fear crept over me the more she went on, and I quickly lost all resolve to even continue standing there. Apparently it had gotten around that she was taking me with her to New York and that we would be dating out there and whatever else they could come up with like that.

And that's when it hit me that everything I'd wanted to tell her was told for me. I'd missed my chance to speak to her, and now rumors had. And without being able to read her expression, I also couldn't read the situation. Surely now wouldn't be the time to confess everything I'd thought of. Or... would it? Was she bringing it to my attention now because she somehow knew and this was her trying to get me to say all of the things that I hadn't been able to work up the courage to do so myself? Or... was this her telling me somehow that the rumors and the very idea were bothering her? Was this her warning that she was uncomfortable with everything that was being said and that I shouldn't confess anything like that to her? Was this her way of letting me down easily?

But then she'd stopped speaking and was looking at me like she was asking how I felt about everything being said, and I was still trying to process her face to the point that I had no idea what to answer her with. I knew that if I waited too long it could somehow only make things worse. I knew that I could hand the thought back over to her side, make things easier on myself, and ask her what she thought about the topic as a whole. But I didn't.

I froze up as fear washed over me, and I simply shrugged, standing up straight and turning away from her. "People don't know what they're talking about, now do they?" Words escaped from my lips before I had any control of them, and once they were out, I knew I had to escape myself before I could make anything any worse. So instead of walking beside her or offering to carry her books like I normally would, I walked ahead of her and listened to her footsteps fall in behind my own as I lead us away from the lockers and the conversation and to our shared next class.

And she didn't come over that night like we had planned. And I didn't text her, and she didn't text me. And I smoked the rest of my cigarettes, and I didn't write my entry for the day. And as I laid back on my bed and thought of all the ways I could have handled something differently and all of the things I could call and say now, I think I realized that I'd finally missed the chance I was literally being handed. And I also realized that I would rather her be my friend than ever lose her over something like this.

And then I realized that I was in love with Rachel Berry.


	6. Chapter 6

A lot of things change as you grow up. From the way you wear your hair, to the things you eat, to your favorite color, to where you live. A lot changes. Perhaps not everything, you'll always be 'you', but... a lot. And that might even be who you think you love. And sometimes a lot can change even in a year or two. One year you could be giving birth to the child of the man you thought one day you would marry. A year later you may find yourself in love with the girl you used to hate. And then things continue to change. They don't tell you when you're younger that one day you could grow to be an entirely new version of yourself. One day you'll stop wanting to be a princess or a ballerina, and you'll settle for whatever pays your bills. Unless you're someone like Rachel Berry. Then you'll always know what you wanna be... But... Chances are, everything will change.

And then sometimes things change dramatically without you even knowing what's going on. One day, you're denying something you don't think will matter to anyone else. The next, you're no longer talking to someone you thought you'd have years left with. And one day you're buying a pack of cigarettes, and it's three years later. And you sigh, and you go to your awful job to pay for your awful car. Lighting a cigarette you're finally old enough to buy on your own, you stand outside in an apron outside of a diner you hate. Or maybe it's just me.

Breathing in the smoke and feeling it fill my lungs in a way that didn't give the same thrill as it once did and just feed an addiction I always claimed I'd never have, I looked to the sky that looked as if it were about to open up. Three years. And not one more word.

She just... left. And I found out about it from a postcard from a friend that was once mine and now living with her. A postcard not even addressed to me really- just sent to my house because the blonde I was to deliver it to wouldn't have understood how to read it. And curiosity got the better of me, and I learned through that little card that three of them were now living together. And I was still here. Left behind. But who's fault was that, hm?

I stamped out the cigarette and opened the glass door of the building with a loud creak. Keeping my head low, I headed towards the back of the counter in front of me to grab the notepad that was too full of slips to keep this place in business so that I could finally silence the large, balding me at the counter who'd been yelling at me since I first left on break. It wasn't really my fault that we couldn't afford to hire anyone else or that he always decided to come every single day at the one time he knew I had break. But either way, I bit my cheek as usual and nodded along as he listed off the exact same order I'd heard every single day for four months.

As the bell above the door chimed and the familiar creak sounded, I naturally thought that it was the equally as loud wife of the regular man just a few minutes early of her daily routine and gave no other thoughts. But when he grew quiet, I couldn't help but turn to see what was so different about her today. But who I saw sitting there three seats down from him was not his wife at all. The face looking back at me was none other than the girl who'd sent the postcard those weeks ago. Dark skin and even darker hair, she grinned at me as she saw my confused look.

I didn't know how to react to this change in events. Everyone I knew was off becoming a star and here I was content to be remembered.


End file.
